Pitch Perfect Diaries: The Ledger Line
by Frankie Maguire
Summary: Beca Mitchell relives one of her most precious moments from the past, when destiny brings her closer to an old competitor.
1. Chapter 1

There are many ways that life becomes eventful for someone—people experience things as much as they can, which often involves social circles and numerous activities deemed time-worthy. Lucky for Beca Mitchell, she's had irreplaceable gifts from her association with the Barden Bellas—gifts of joy, music, friendship, and a sense of direction. The huge turn of events left her very occupied that she can hardly notice that it's been three years since they had won the World Championship for A capella.

Today, she marveled at her small desk with a large stack of demo CDs and paperwork, having been the third youngest music producer at K Records in Washington after the transfer from Residual Heat. It wasn't Los Angeles, but it's a start—a very good start. She even had her own name plate that said 'Reggie Mitchell', which is a bit disappointing, but clearly, the hard work had paid off from her internship, since she's somewhat visible to the industry. Next to it was an old photograph of the Bellas with Jesse, Benji, and Bumper, whose arms were wrapped around Fat Amy when they made a quick trip to Florida after the competition; she giggled to herself, not paying attention to the vinyl records on the wall, not even to the background music. However, it wasn't long enough until her random musings were interrupted by a knock on her glass door.

 _"_ _Becs, your ten o'clock is here,"_ said the receptionist, holding up a cup of coffee while wearing a pretentious smile without intent—it was so rehearsed that his lips didn't even twitch. _'Occupational hazard,'_ Beca thought. They weren't particularly well-acquainted, but she was fond of the guy for getting her name right.

 _"_ _What? I don't have a ten o'clock. I'm not even done listening to these—"_ Beca gestured at the CDs before taking a sip of her morning pick-me-up _. "And that old fart wants me to find the next Foy Vance!"_

The ray of light coming from her window had drawn attention to the lines on her forehead when her eyebrows furrowed. She didn't look older, but there were certainly dark circles under her eyes—an evidence for sleepless nights and caffeine-saturated stress.

Being a second too late from stifling a yawn, she grabbed the remote, aiming to pause the music before she could hear the nightmare of someone singing the words, _'if you were an ice cream cone, I'd lick you up and down.'_

 _"_ _I know, but boss-man said she's your ten o'clock and no one's here to fill in except you."_ He shrugged so innocently, coming up to Beca to fix her hair, tucking a few brown strands behind her ear. He enjoyed it, contemplating on whether he should start a conversation about what Beca should wear for the next business conference in Connecticut.

 _"_ _Who's she?"_ said Beca, humming at the warmth of her coffee. She had asked the question out of oblivion, not curiosity; she might as well be half-awake.

 _"_ _I didn't catch her name but from the way she ranted about Volkswagen, I think she's German."_ He replied, carelessly going through the tower of disks after seeing an album cover of a shirtless surfer dude with washboard abs.

Beca shook her head out of disbelief. _'Who does that?'_ she thought.

 _"_ _Anyway,"_ She swatted his hand when he attempted to steal the Cher poster. _"Boss-man also said that she's a very important client, blah blah blah… just…please, Beca? You know what happened to Dax, right? Besides, it will only take ten min—"_ He stopped as soon as she rolled her eyes.

 _"_ _Fine! You win! Fine! But this means I'll get Chipotle for lunch, okay? Extra guacamole."_

She tried her best not to let out a loud groan. Instead, she shoved the empty mug against his chest playfully and made a grab for the brown folder on her desk with a black pen tucked in between the pages of papers.

 _"_ _And I need a refill!"_ She yelled on her way to the lobby, not knowing that she was about to meet the biggest surprise of her life.

Next to the huge leather couch, stood a woman in denim, talking to someone on the phone. _"Mam, ich sagte Ihnen…"_ The conversation slowly died into a whisper when she realized it wasn't the most convenient place to speak her own language. She paced back and forth, occasionally staring at her leather suitcase, thinking it might have been a mistake to arrive early since producers don't seem to care much about humane effort, let alone, punctuality.

' _America,"_ she thought.

Beca was just about to say hello when she saw her face—a familiar pair of cold blue eyes—sharpened by a hint of mascara and eyeliner as dark as coal and skin nearly as fair as hers. Then there was that gorgeous head of blonde hair that used to be tied up in a bun and combed to perfection, but now it was falling loosely until her neck and shoulders were covered with pure gold.

All of a sudden, her poetic visions were swallowed by massive alarm; her breath hitched and her heart started beating rapidly. She ran to the pantry, her three-inch heels clicking on the floor, hating herself for not being able to prepare quick-witted and sarcastic comebacks. She had to remind herself that she does not like this woman.

The brunette was a lot of things, but graceful is not one of them; she stumbled and fell under a wooden table where she hit her head in her attempt of getting back up.

 _"_ _Jesus Christ!"_ She winced in pain, kneeling and rubbing her scalp.

Deep laughter filled the air quickly.

 _"_ _I knew I'd see a little mouse down there,"_ Kommissar had bent over, flashing a rather toothy grin. _"What's the matter? Are you looking for cheese?"_ She helped her up, watching Beca's mouth drop open. The blonde had a vice grip. Nonetheless, she was gentle.

 _"_ _I… was just looking for legs—I mean chocolate eggs! Chocolate eggs! I was… uh… eating chocolate eggs and then I dropped…"_ Beca straightened out her blouse, looking flushed, distracting herself from looking at the taller woman. Their height difference was obvious, despite the footwear. She didn't understand why, but she had missed the feeling of being intimidated.

Composing herself, she took a deep breath. _"Hi, what can I do for you?"_ She thanked herself for managing to stay polite. It's been three years; she shouldn't be affected by all this.

 _"_ _You work here, yes? As an assistant? Coffee girl? Or do you mop the floors?"_ Kommissar raised an eyebrow, then proceeded to take a seat in the nearby table.

 _"_ _Music producer, actually."_ Beca followed—she really wanted to slap herself in the face for being weak. Where are her infamous insults when she needed them the most?

 _"_ _Ah, well, sheer dumb luck can happen—I have an appointment with a Mr. Reggie Mitchell."_ Kommissar furthered, growing a little impatient but it was more obvious that she was delighted over seeing her old _'friend'_. She was always reserved and calm—didn't seem to know how to panic or worry.

 _"_ _I suppose you can show me where he is, as I don't like to be kept waiting."_

Beca's eyes had widened. _"That's me… I…I'm Reggie—I mean, my name is Rebecca, but my boss calls me Reggie."_

 _"_ _You? What an unfortunate casualty, Rebecca Mitchell."_ Kommissar looked perplexed, but she kept smiling; she always loved making people nervous.

 _"_ _Beca—please call me Beca."_ The smaller woman said. She had the opportunity to stare at the blonde's face; she noticed that Kommissar hasn't aged a bit—that she looked almost the same, that she always had the right amount of assertiveness, if not aggression.

" _I think 'Little Mouse' still suits you—always so tiny and squeaky_ ," Kommissar took her by the hand, practically leading the way back to the studio.

 _"_ _Well…you still smell like cinnamon!"_ Beca let herself get dragged.

 _"_ _Do you always make a habit of smelling your clients?"_ Kommissar chuckled in between a smirk, allowing Beca to wallow in her own pool of embarrassment. _"Come now—we are to discuss the overhaul of the company, going from independent to mainstream."_

 _"_ _Wait, what?"_ Beca squirmed away from the firm grasp and locked the door. _"Whoah, slow down—what do you mean overhaul?"_

 _"_ _You know…how do Americans say it these days? Revamp? Redecorate?"_ Kommissar leaned forward, eyeing the control room.

 _"_ _No, I know what overhaul means! What are you talking about? I thought you were just going to submit a demo!"_ Beca had never felt so confused in her entire life.

 _"_ _A demo? You are a very silly elf—my family owns the company. We felt the need to save the record label from its known incompetence of producing useless noise so we bought it."_ Kommissar explained, almost pompously.

 _"_ _Please tell me K Records doesn't mean Kommissar Records because I would actually kill myself right now."_ Beca slapped her forehead in denial. How could she not know?

 _"_ _While your permanent absence might work in my favor, I am not that self-absorbed. Although, you should really do your research—I mean no respectable employee is unaware of the company that he or she is working for, especially the name of the company itself."_

 _"_ _This is not happening. Nope, this is a lie. You're just messing with me with… that… that sexually frustrating German accent! Besides, where is the public announcement? Had it been legit, we would've had a board meeting or something."_

 _"_ _You should really take a pill that makes you chill—something that has a calming or a relaxing effect to take away all this inappropriate hysteria. I simply thought of personally delivering the news to you before we make the announcement tomorrow. After all, we do have unfinished business between us."_

 _"_ _Not gonna happen—I quit."_ Beca waived her hands franctically. Of course, she didn't mean what she said, but she wasn't in the mood to play games and she didn't really want to work with someone who would intentionally piss her off for the sole purpose of their entertainment.

 _"_ _You can't—you've got a year left on your contract. I checked with the lawyers."_ Kommissar countered, bringing out a piece of paper, with too much business gibberish written on it.

 _"_ _What do you want? You can't seriously hold a grudge for losing in the competition. It's been three years for Pete's sake!"_

 _"_ _Who said anything about holding a grudge?"_

 _"_ _Is this some kind of sick game?_

 _"_ _You really don't remember, do you?"_

 _"_ _Remember what?"_

* * *

She remembered the rush of adrenaline. She remembered how her heart almost leaped out of her chest. How the crowds roared for their victory as she held the trophy and made her way to the left wing. Everyone was cheering and hugging each other—her best friend Chloe was in tears, while Stacie, Jessica, Lilly, and Emily were chanting a series of _'Oh my god'_ and _'We won'_ that was soon diluted by the marching footsteps of Das Sound Machine.

Beca's head turned, practically squeezing the round column of the trophy as her stomach dropped at the sight of Pieter's cold stare. She composed herself, cleared her throat, and walked towards them.

Kommissar, who just emptied her second bottle of water, looked indifferent.

 _"_ _Congratulations…Bellas."_ She said.

 _"_ _Beginner's luck. Don't be so giddy."_ added Pieter. He proceeded to the backstage with the rest of the group after a few minutes of heavy bantering with Fat Amy, leaving Kommissar alone with Beca.

 _"_ _Told ya, we'd kick your ass,"_ Beca waved her prize, braggingly.

Kommissar strode forward, grabbing Beca by the collar and kissed her on the mouth, which would be slightly arduous if the smaller woman wasn't wearing a pair of heels. Meanwhile, Beca presumed she was going to get punched in the face, but the way her lips were enveloped with warmth and tenderness proved her wrong, almost to a shock, that her shoulders were raised stiffly.

 _"_ _This isn't over yet,"_ The blonde pulled back, whispering. She contemplated on whether or not she should wipe off the smeared red lipstick on Beca's face with a small towel, but did anyway, very carefully.

 _"_ _You taste like mint chocolate chip ice cream!"_ Beca yelled furiously, trying hard not to blush. Normally, a person would stand back and leave her alone, but she was greeted with a half-hearted laughter.

 _"_ _Only on special occasions, but you should really work on your insults, Thumbelina."_ Kommissar patted the top of her head and walked away, as if nothing happened.


	2. Chapter 2

_"_ _You look like hell,"_ Dax pointed out bluntly as Beca passed in front of him. The poor girl had been getting a lot of weird dreams ever since the great-turnover-slash-Nazi-occupation, not to mention how Kommissar started bossing her around like she was back to assistant-level, was more than just degrading. It even came to a point where her daily tasks helped her formed a morning mantra of 'No, no, no, no."

She had to be up by 5 o'clock, just because her new boss was always first to arrive in the office, which is usually on or before 7am and the rest of the employees would arrive three hours later. She was psyched at first, thinking, she was handpicked to collaborate with artists and produce music. Instead, she was bombarded with phone calls, paperwork, and more—Guess what? Demo CDs. On top of which, she had to make coffee for Kommissar, which was always white-no-sugar-but-with-a-little-splash-of-Jack-Daniels-every-Friday.

It wasn't that Kommissar would say things like 'where's my coffee?' or yell to get things her way. Her icy cold stare was more than enough to scare people, not to mention the rumors of her killing a person, and owning a gas chamber in the basement of her house in Germany. There was something about Kommissar that made rudeness so elegant—the way she demanded for something was so harmless, it could almost pass for begging. Then again, her dignity was intact—always poised and never awkward. If she wanted a bottle of water, all she had to do was simply give Beca a hypnotic gaze and purse her lips until the girl squirmed. If she wanted a cookie, she could take a piece from Beca's hand and just mutter a sweet _'dankjewel'_ , which Beca thought was German for 'thanks' until she Googled and discovered that it was Dutch.

Somewhere in between those days, Beca couldn't figure out if she was the next determined Kommissar Jr. or the doting girlfriend and she was getting sick of it.

" _Don't—just_ ," Beca put her hand on the intern's face. " _don't even start._ "

 _"_ _Another rough night?"_ Dax adjusted his eyeglasses and crossed his arms, looking at her sympathetically.

 _"_ _I had a dream about being sent to a musical boot camp,"_ Beca sighed, squeezing the empty paper cup she got from the pantry cabinet. _"And being shot at while I was tied to an oak tree…naked."_ She still shivered at the thought of being stripped bare—to her, it was more horrifying than gunshots, which is the reason why if all else fails, she couldn't apply to be the Naked Weather Girl in Canada.

 _"_ _Let me guess,"_ Dax grabbed a bag of Cheetos and two small packets of Reese's peanut butter cups. _"Blondie held the gun."_

 _"_ _Always the bane of my existence,"_ said Beca humorously. _"Seriously, I'm so close to putting in my two weeks notice."_ She eyed the peanut butter cups—she wanted to eat about twenty of those.

 _"_ _You can't— contract,"_ Dax reminded her. _"Where is the boss-lady anyway?"_

 _"_ _In the Control Room,"_ Beca pointed to a door with a sign that says 'DND', munching on a Snickers bar. _"Probably shooting darts with Jason Derulo."_

 _"_ _Damn. We got Derulo?"_ Dax raised his eyebrow in surprise.

 _"_ _And Cheryl Cole,"_ Beca nodded, faking a British accent at the mention of the singer's name. She tried hiding her amusement over the company's quick progress, but she couldn't help but feel impressed. She wanted to be a part of it—she wanted to work with so many artists and do what she was meant to do.

* * *

 _"_ _Becs, Jesse is on line 3—he says it's urgent,"_ Her assistant waved, raising three of his fingers. This caught Beca's attention. Jesse only calls at night, she thought.

 _"_ _Here,"_ Beca handed over two cups of coffee—one was labeled 'K' for no sugar and the other was 'B' was for soymilk and honey, wearing a very perplexed expression on her face. _"Can you take this to the Control Room?"_

 _"_ _Sure, I got it,"_ He smiled warmly, but was soon distracted by Beca's crowning glory that he almost spilled the hot beverage in his hands _. "And don't forget to brush your hair!"_

 _"_ _No hair, no opinion!"_ Beca yelled, before sticking her tongue out and running her fingers through her hair like she was in a shampoo commercial.

She sprinted her way to her desk, grabbing the telephone, and casually twisting the cables.

 _"_ _What's up, boyfriend?"_ Beca greeted.

Her enthusiasm disappeared as soon as Jesse explained that he was going on vacation with his family to visit his sick grandmother, that it was a last minute thing.

 _"_ _Oh. For how long?"_ she asked, quickly rummaging through the drawer for her orange Starbucks planner, but found none.

 _"_ _I don't know—a month, at least. It depends on my Nana's condition,"_ Jesse replied hesitantly.

 _"_ _Right…and our trip to New York? Isn't that like this weekend?"_ Beca asked again, opening her laptop to check everything she had been planning for the past month—hotel rooms, tickets, reservations.

 _"_ _About that,"_ Jesse said a little too loudly, talking above the sound of his parents arguing. _"I was wondering if we could call the Airlines—possibly get a refund."_

There was a long uncomfortable silence between them until Beca drew a long audible breath of disappointment.

 _"_ _I'll take care of it,"_ she finally replied.

 _"_ _Are you mad at me?"_ Jesse's voice sounded worrisome, as if he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

 _"_ _No—no. Of course not. Don't be silly,"_ Beca was never good at lying, but she tried; when these things happen, she would just sound so sarcastic _. "I'll call the Airlines. Maybe I could pull up a few strings. Just call me when you get there, okay?"_

 _"_ _I promise,"_ Jesse rushed through his words, convinced that nothing was wrong. " _I'll call you everyday."_

 _"_ _Take care."_ Beca murmured indifferently, but Jesse was too busy to notice. She could hear his mother call his name and telling him to leave his bass guitar behind. She groaned out of frustration, deciding to listen to more demos to get stuff done, hoping it would make her feel better.

* * *

Meanwhile, Kommissar finally left the Control Room to fax a few papers for her new project. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun—a sufficient evidence that there was a long day ahead. It was complimented by her lovely pair of skinny jeans, black leather boots, and a tight-fitting Cookie Monster print t-shirt. She got caught up, listening and humming to the Daft Punk song coming from her iPod, that she wasn't aware of the arms wrapping around her slender waist. Her body froze, wondering if it was who she thought it was, not knowing how to react. Good thing, there was a lingering scent of citrus and sandalwood.

 _"_ _Pieter, what are you doing here?"_ She turned around and smiled, giving both his shoulders a tight squeeze before kissing him on the cheek. _"What a pleasant surprise!"_

 _"_ _I came to take you home, of course."_ He stated casually, picking Kommissar up her feet, carrying her to the lobby, like a prince saving a damsel in distress.

 _"_ _This is ridiculous,"_ Kommissar giggled in between her words, long legs swaying out of protest. _"Mama and Papa asked me to work here for a few months—will you put me down? This is embarrassing_!"

It took two turns to the right and one to the left before they plopped down the leather couch like exhausted teenagers, appreciating the fact that they were alone. Kommissar took the liberty of putting her iPod on speaker to lighten up the mood. Pieter, on the other hand, made a grab for the acoustic guitar under the table in front of them.

 _"_ _Frau, you have to come back,"_ Pieter whistled, his fingers started strumming gently _. "They're all looking for you."_

 _"_ _Just tell them I'm on a very important business trip_ ," Kommissar suggested nonchalantly _. "Besides, they have you—everything will be okay."_

 _"_ _We need you, Schatz,"_ Pieter shook his head out of disapproval—Das Sound Machine was never the same without their leader. _"My voice has been sounding so flat since you were gone."_

 _"_ _Oh, flat my ass!"_ Kommissar smacked his leg jokingly. _"Don't think that I'm forgetting we went to college together!"_

 _"_ _But you're so much better than staying in this dreadful place, with these terrible Americans,"_ Pieter pleaded, grabbing her hand and holding it close to his. The gesture had drawn Kommissar to rest her head on his chest, just like when they shared an apartment in college.

 _"_ _I'll live—my company keeps me wildly entertained,"_ Kommissar said softly, closing her eyes. She had missed this—missed him.

 _"_ _You didn't tell me that Barden Bella was working here with you_." Apparently, Pieter misunderstood the word company. It was no secret that Beca Mitchell works for K Records, but she wasn't expecting anyone from her team to pry or find out—especially Pieter, who didn't seem to care back then.

 _"_ _I only tell you things that are important,"_ Kommissar, not wanting to discuss business, pulled away from his embrace, and fumbled to press the _'stop'_ button of her mp3 player. However, she knew that Pieter was just as persistent as she was when it comes to their affairs—whether personal or not.

 _"_ _And she's what? Your new assistant?"_ Pieter queried.

 _"_ _She's one of the producers. She needs to work on her songwriting. And her head voice—her throat needs to open up a bit more with the high notes."_ Kommissar replied without thought.

 _"_ _Are you sure you're just here for business?"_ Pieter looked suspicious, like he was just about to discover a deep dark secret. In return, Kommissar felt annoyed, rolling her eyes at him.

 _"_ _Don't give me that look, Pieter,"_ she retorted, sighing. _"Have I ever been so unprofessional?"_

 _"_ _I just don't want you to hurt yourself,"_ Pieter mouthed a _'nein'_ before answering. It wasn't his intention to meddle with Kommissar's life, but they've known each other for so long that he couldn't stand there and not care.

 _"_ _I'm not going to kill anyone, if that's what you mean,"_ Kommissar joked, silently praying for him to drop the subject.

"That's not what I mean," Unfortunately, Pieter didn't buy it. He wasn't ready to let go either.

 _"_ _I'll be fine,"_ Kommissar leaned over to touch his face and fix his hair lovingly, looking straight into his eyes. " _Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl."_ She reassured him.

Pieter was going to say something when he heard a woman clearing her throat, three feet away from them.

 _"_ _The little troll,"_ He stared at Beca, who was fidgeting, inquisitively. This made Kommissar retract both of her hands casually.

 _"_ _Giant…hi,"_ Beca just greeted him quickly and looked down at her feet, not knowing what to say, wondering if she was disturbing something.

 _"_ _How are you? It's been a while—"_ Pieter asked insincerely.

 _"_ _I'm good—hey listen, Kommissar, can I talk to you for a sec? Privately?"_ Beca looked at Kommissar, almost forgetting how to breathe. She couldn't remember if it was out of nervousness or admiration.

 _"_ _Anything you say to me, you can say to Pieter,"_ Kommissar motioned over to Pieter, wanting to prove that she has nothing to hide.

 _"_ _Alright—okay, I want in,"_ Beca blurted out, a little too quickly.

 _"_ _I beg your pardon?"_ Kommissar raised her eyebrows, not understanding what the woman was trying to say. Beca, then, took a step forward and began to blabber, much to Pieter's dismay.

 _"_ _I've been working here for two years and I've worked my way up to become a producer. It's time I act like one—I'm not here to bring you coffee and sign whatever you want me to sign. I want to make music. I want to produce music. I'm tired of being your personal maid."_

 _"_ _Is that it?"_ Kommissar crossed her legs, watching Beca's lips twitch. Her expression remained neutral, not revealing one trace of anger.

 _"_ _Well…yeah."_ Beca's voice faltered, wishing she had thought of a better way to express her sentiments. She was half-expecting for Kommissar to blow up and slap her in the face, but it was more nerve-wracking when the blonde was standing up quietly and eyeing her from head to toe.

 _"_ _Jason Derulo is requesting a song to give to his girlfriend as a means to propose an engagement,"_ Kommissar spoke softly, as opposed to Beca's idea—although, every word was enunciated properly. _"Submit a composition and a demo in two days. If I don't see a flash drive on my desk by then, you're fired."_

 _"_ _What! That's not fair! Two days is too short! Nobody can write a song in two days!"_ Beca almost squeaked, sounding more like a mouse than an actual person.

Pieter laughed hysterically, but he managed to stop by adding a serious tone to his voice.

 _"_ _Kommissar can write a smash hit in 30 minutes. She can play 10 musical instruments, she's a Coloratura Soprano—she has a double degree in Voice & Opera and Composition—paid her dues in Juilliard and the UvA; all finished in three years, while doing her internship as an actor in a production called Der Klang der Musik." _

As if Beca didn't feel so small enough, one of Kommissar's loyal posse had to brag about all of her accomplishments. Of course Kommissar went to Juilliard. Of course she can write songs that fast. Of course she's perfect—she's a robot.

The blonde took everything factually, that she didn't feel an ounce of shame or pride.

 _"_ _It wasn't my deadline to make. If we don't have a song, the client will consider looking for another record label. You seem confident in your amateur skills so I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself. After all, you are a music producer, right?"_ She was challenging the brunette.

 _"_ _Your—your butt looks nice in those jeans!"_ Beca couldn't do much but yell, storming out of the room breathlessly.

 _"_ _She's insulting you, isn't she?"_ Pieter looked at Kommissar out of sheer astonishment.

 _"_ _Always."_


	3. Chapter 3

Many hours had passed and almost everyone left the office, except for Beca who was caught between jumping off a cliff and rage quitting, throwing her twenty-fourth piece of crumpled paper against the wall. Her office sounded like there was a wrestling match going on with the moaning and groaning everytime she couldn't come up with the right words. ' _Engaged._ _To marry_. _Honeymoon?'_

"Fuck," she clicked her pen in a rapid motion with her right hand, while the other anchored one side of her head so she could pull her brown hair mercilessly. The back of her neck ached. Her shoulders were tense and her posture was more terrible than usual. It didn't make sense to her why she was upset when technically, her wish was granted; she was assigned to do something meaningful, it's just that the agreement was just done with dripping arrogance, like those Germans expected her to fail. She imagined Pieter lying on the couch, doing the L sign on his forehead and choking in his own laughter while Kommissar had that same mischief in her eyes, handing over a huge box of her things and saying something no less than crass.

"Sorry, tiny mouse—no losers allowed at K Records!" It echoed, following a dramatic screeching sound, like nails raking against the chalkboard. And then, the scene switched to a Barden setting where she saw a very angry Chloe, snatching away her scarf, telling her to walk away with shame. Not only that—her pessimism wasn't even satisfied that Fat Amy had to make a cameo, shoving a Vegemite sandwich in her mouth while imitating Dory with a series of, _'Just keep swimming'_ in a very unpleasant manner.

Clearly, she wasn't helping to improve her own mood swings _._

If it weren't for Satan's mistress, things wouldn't get worse. She was fine with the old company—she was used to Sammy's condescending remarks and everyone who prayed in silence, since they couldn't come up with great ideas. She was fine with her old boss; it didn't make feel like she was working for the enemy. There wasn't a huge tension between them because they didn't have a history.

With a final bang of her head against the wooden desk and an inaudible 'ow', she opted to log into Gchat and see who's available. She had to pick between Lilly and Cynthia-Rose when she received an instant message from Chloe, asking if she was available for a quick video call, which eventually led to a less cheesy heart-to-heart session, just like that night when they had a retreat in the middle of the woods by the campfire.

Beca wasn't in the mood to admit it, but she was missing Chloe, in ways that she wished she was also teaching music somewhere in Mississippi. Hell, she'd even take the job in a state as irrelevant as Iowa or Wyoming—that's how much she hated her current situation. She was missing her cheerfulness and her misplaced optimism. But most of all, she was missing the number of opportunities when she could count the freckles on her best friend's face to get distracted and the number of times she attempted to annoy her favorite ginger with her crude sense of humor an dorkiness.

"Are you eating Cheetos? You're getting a little chubby," Chloe beamed. Her face seemed vibrant from Beca's Macbook Air. "And you know how much spot reduction is such a lie."

Beca had been meaning to laugh at Chloe's ridiculous observation, but she needed to rant, so badly that she was missing the flow of the conversation.

"Can you believe it? She's a nightmare!" she started poking the screen, aiming for Chloe's rather adorable nose. "I'm gonna lose my job. I'm gonna lose everything!"

"Beca, just relax," Chloe's voice was almost soothing when she replied. "I'm sure she's just doing her job. Deadlines happen."

"Please—don't defend her. She's just so arrogant!" Beca countered. "So pretty and so gorgeous, but so arrogant!" it was intended to sound like a whisper, but it turned out to be a little too audible.

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that," Chloe teased.

"What am I going to tell my dad? He's gonna kill me!"

"Listen to me—you're not gonna get fired. Calm down. I want you to lie down, get some fresh air and open your eyes—just observe your surroundings and let those creative juices flow. I have to go. Miss you—love you—bye!"

"Chloe—wait!" Beca pleaded, but by the time she spoke, Chloe was already offline and in a hurry.

Venting out only made her feel worse; it left a sinking feeling in her stomach—a bit nauseous that she had to go straight to the girl's bathroom. Screw creativity. Screw fresh air. She locked herself in a cubicle, bawling her eyes out. It wasn't particularly a graceful crying session—she had her forehead pressed against the door, there was snot everywhere, which was really gross and it was something she would never admit but she decided that everyone goes through the whole disgusting human nature thing, and her face was probably no less than ugly. From the outside, it probably seemed like she was having an asthma attack with all the gasping.

She was unusually homesick and she hadn't felt this way since her mom left and since she graduated college. She didn't believe in sororities or keeping in touch, but she had found herself a family with the Bellas despite their different paths in life. It was the most stable thing she ever had next to her job and to Jesse. She really wanted to be grateful for Chloe's advice and time, she wanted to motivate herself and think of the things she had to go through to get to her current position, she wanted to resort to gathering her collection of compliments from other people but nothing worked.

"I can't do this," she whispered to herself as she sobbed weakly. Little did she know that someone else was about to enter the room.

"Are you alright?" Kommissar's voice had echoed so loudly that it pulled Beca from her weepy reverie. Life just wouldn't cut her some slack. They had to be alone. _Together_. She was going to ignore it but she could see a shadowed pair of black Doctor Martens below, followed by a gentle tap on the door.

"I'll be done in a minute," Beca sniffled, reaching for the toilet paper to wipe away her mascara-stained tears.

"Beca?"

The realization of who it was brought made Kommissar worry as she was expecting to be the only person left in the office. Sometimes she would see the janitor and they would exchange a few words, but she never thought anyone would work as hard as she does.

"Why are you crying?" she asked again.

"Nothing," Beca muttered, finally deciding to come out. Her head was down, staring at the marbled floor. She almost looked like a pubescent girl after being sent to the Principal's Office.

"Surely it means something to you if you're this upset."

"I said it's nothing."

Kommissar sighed a little too audible than she would have liked. She took a few steps backward until both her hands gripped the sides of the sink for support, leaning. After years of being a leader, it was no surprise that 'nothing' was the exact cue for opening a can of worms.

"Are you mad at me?" she didn't waste a moment of awkward silence since this so-called pep talk wasn't part of the plan. And she had so much stuff to do. Not many people appreciated her methods, but she was proud of being straight-forward.

Beca laughed at the question out of sarcasm. In fact, Kommissar could almost see the words _'No, I am so very pleased to see you right now'_ rudely written all over the girl's face.

"Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?"

"I don't hate you," Kommissar quirked her eyebrows in surprise, not recalling a particular incident that would suggest expressions of loathing towards her colleague. Maybe she was a little snarky, but it was all fun and games—as if they haven't been down this road before, hearts racing at the expertise of banter-flirting, in which, Beca miserably failed doing so.

"Let's face it. You're picking on me because you couldn't get over the fact that we've won at the Worlds. You just couldn't accept that we were better than DSM," Beca's body was trembling out of anger, her fists clenching like she was about to punch a person. She never rehearsed it like this. She wanted to appear calm and strong, but she couldn't say a word without crying.

"I'd be careful of what I would say, if I were you," Kommissar warned her, standing up straight and folding her arms across her chest. While the incident at the Worlds was no longer a touchy subject, Kommissar felt very protective of her group. She didn't like getting disrespected. She didn't appreciate having anyone imply that Das Sound Machine was less of an a capella group because they didn't win either.

Beca should have been afraid. Instead, she moved closer to Kommissar, mimicking all her gestures, except doing it aggressively, just like she did at the Riff-Off. "Is that a threat?" she whispered in a very dangerous tone.

"No—you're acting like a pitiful teenager, throwing a tantrum and looking for something to blame," Kommissar replied, feeling mildly irritated at Beca's accusations. "But since you just had to bring it up, I will tell you how I feel—DSM, was in fact, the best group in the world and still is. I was disappointed when the judges favored your sentimental performance, which is a bit unfair when you had to bring every Bella member, old and new, into that song. There is nothing moving about flashlights. What kind of song is that anyway? Would you write a sequel and call it Lanterns?"

"You are such a bi—," Beca wanted to push her away, but she ended up feeling a cold finger pressed against her lips, being shushed.

"I'm not done yet, please do not interrupt me darling," Kommissar added, not noticing that she was almost called a _bitch_ by one of her subordinates. Beca intended on getting pissed off, expecting herself to get into a catfight but as soon as she was called darling, she found a certain kind of sweetness underneath their unpleasant confrontation; she accepted that pet names were hypnotic—that Kommissar was.

"Despite what I think and how I feel about what happened, unlike you, I don't hold any grudges. If you think there is this great sense of hostility between us because of it, then you are wrong. This is how we run a business and this is how we produce music. Sometimes it's challenging, sometimes it's frustrating, but that's how it is. I am sorry if you thought I was holding a personal vendetta. I think you have great potential. I just wish you would trust me. It should have been me asking why you hate me so much."

"I don't hate you, I just don't like you," Beca finally admitted, but she was too afraid to tell the reason why.

"You don't have to like me," Kommissar offered, wiping away Beca's tears, not minding the traces of mascara on her fingers. "You just have to work with me and trust my decisions…professionally."

"Please don't touch me—it's distracting," Beca closed her eyes. Her hands held Kommissar's for a brief moment, wanting to free herself from the woman's touch. Strangely enough, she didn't want to let go but she knew she had to for all kinds of reasons. Mostly because it looked really inappropriate if someone were to walk in on them. They looked like they were about to kiss.

"Then you go clean yourself up. You look like a heated mess," Kommissar retracted both her hands immediately, but only after pinching Beca's cheeks for revenge, in which, Beca let out a really adorable _'Ow'_.

"It's hot mess, actually," Beca attempted to correct the blonde woman. She also managed to quickly wash her face and pat it try with toilet paper until she looked a little less ugly, all the while.

"Same thing, different terms. Now come with me—" Kommissar held her by the wrist, leading her out of the bathroom. "Have you written anything yet?"

"Umm… just a flimsy chorus. Emily is the songwriter—I'm not… it's not really my area of whatever."

When they finally reached Kommissar's newly renovated office, Beca gawked out of jealousy—clear glass windows with great view of the city lights and the night sky, a cozy red futon big enough for two Germans, two desks—one for paperwork, the other one for dining purposes. Everything was bigger and nicer that it almost looked like a presidential suite without the bed.

"Who do I have to sleep with to get an office just like this?" she joked, but judging the way Kommissar looked at her, it probably wasn't that funny.

"Drink this," Kommissar handed her a small bottle from the mini fridge.

"Why are you giving me Red Bull?"

"Because we're not going to leave this office until work is done."


End file.
